Remnants
by kisforkralie
Summary: A historical Hetalia fanfiction based on the discovery of King Tutankhamun's tomb.


_**Author's Note:**_ Hello! This is the first Hetalia fanfic that I have written in a while, so, I apologize if my writing seems poor.

Also, you may notice that Egypt's human name in this fanfiction isn't 'Gupta Muhammad Hassan'. I decided to change it up to 'Malik Muhammad al-Hassan' since that would be more accurate and since the name Gupta isn't Arabic; it's Indian and if I'm correct, I believe there is no 'p' sound in the Arabic language. Just wanted to clarify that beforehand.

Thanks for reading this and I really hope that you enjoy this creation.

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 **"REMNANTS"**

 _ **1922, Valley of the Kings, Luxor, Egypt**_

 _True knowledge was present in accepting two simple things._

History was either going to remember or forget you, erasing you from it's ongoing story and forgetting that you even existed.

Yes, the truth was ugly.

Yes, it was unpleasant.

Yes, it was cruel in every sense.

But it was truth. And this was how the game was played.

If you wished to become immortal - _truly_ become immortal, you had to fight for it. You had to prove yourself worthy of that recognition, to be exalted and admired for the generations yet to emerge on the world stage. You needed to see that opportunity and take it before anyone else could. Only then history would be kind to you; because you intended to write it.

That's what every nation knew from the moment they were born. That's what his mother was taught and that was what she taught him.

Of course, that knowledge wasn't exempt from their people. That's what every man and woman learned as they were crowned and when they were granted the mantle of pharaoh. Those men and women could change and alter the future of the kingdom with a simple wave of a hand or a snap of their fingers. They were the ones that shaped Egypt. The pharaoh was the potter and Egypt was the clay, patiently waiting to be shaped into something intricate; something great. History had it's eyes on them and so did Egyptian people.

They had to prove themselves. They had to conquer for their nation and live for their people.

It was ironic, really. The pharaohs were not godly beings; Malik knew that even when he was a child. After all, he was no fool and as of the present, he no longer believed or held any faith in such gods. But his people - no - his mother's people treated them like they were. They even believed that they were the vessels of gods. It was a pretty lie, but that was far from the truth. Yes, they had the kingdom handed to them on a golden platter and indeed, they were given treatment worthy of a god. But they weren't some high being. They were flesh and blood. They were human like anyone else.

And in death, they would take their throne above. The people of the black land would mourn and throw dust onto themselves when their beloved ruler passed on. They would follow behind as the pharaoh was taken to their final resting place, providing them with gifts and treasures for the after life. But their resting places would be disturbed and rid of their treasures after the pharaoh passed.

It was disrespectful in every sense.

Almost none had been laid fully intact of their treasures.

The Valley of the Kings was there to ensure the kings and queens who served the empire would lay at rest peacefully without disturbance. That's what those who held loyalty to the pharaohs intended. But of course, not all things go directly on plan. That was exactly Malik's thought process as he stood tall, overlooking the large, sandy valley. His sharp, emerald green eyes scanned the workers before darting directly on the scurrying archaeologists stumbling through the sand. And from the looks of it, they were about to dig.

As swiftly as possible, Malik Muhammad al-Hassan made his down to where the excitement was occurring, noticing how the men there were conversing, inquiring on what they would find, what other artifacts and riches waiting to be discovered.

 _This is a necropolis,_ Malik would think to himself, mentally shaking his head. _You know exactly what you will find._ That was just common knowledge in general.

His thoughts were quickly disturbed by another voice behind him.

"Evening, Malik."

The voice would come only a few meters away from him and the sound of footsteps were only getting closer and closer. Malik quickly ceased in advancing towards the group of men, anticipating none other then Arthur Kirkland to stand by his side, a cane in hand. When the Brit finally stood side by side to the desert nation, Arthur glanced at Malik briefly before returning his attention to rushing archaeologists.

"They're preparing to open the burial chamber," the British Empire stated the obvious, removing his hat. Arthur winced and rubbed his eyes when they were exposed to sunlight.

The Englishman's blonde hair swayed in reaction to the soft breeze of wind. "Mister Carter is going to accompany the men in opening the doorway. Much of the crew is going to assist as well." Arthur cocked his head over to Malik, wondering if the desert nation would respond in return. Malik refused to acknowledge him.

Arthur would realize this, quietly scoffing before removing his gaze off of the man. Arthur observed the way Malik's hand formed into a fist and how the white of his knuckles would show, though his facial expression remained calm and collected. "Your country - " Arthur searched for the correct words after a moment of uneasy silence. "Your people will better understand their region's history. _If_ we find anything of value."

"Everything in the Valley has value." Malik suddenly said, managing to maintain his usual tone of voice. He blinked slowly before turning to face Arthur, anticipating an answer from him.

Arthur thought it was best to say nothing, as he could almost sense the Egyptian's distaste for him radiate off of him. Instead, Arthur said something anyway, despite the obvious tension in the air. "We are only going to find out what is beyond those doors - that's all."

"I'm no fool." Malik says rather bluntly, his eyes averted to the ground.

"I never said you were."

Malik returned to facing the other way.

"If they discover a body, will they leave it here?"

"Of course."

"What about other artifacts?"

Arthur paused when realization dawned upon him. This was more words then Malik would say in a _month_.

"..I can't guarantee that, necessarily. Mister Carter and Lord Carnarvon _may_ wish to -"

Arthur didn't have the chance to finish his sentence; Malik would begin to walk away while Arthur was still speaking. Grunting, Arthur placed his hat on once more before following Malik. Work was yet to be done.

The group of workers and archaeologists - Englishmen and Egyptian alike - had already begun to open the tomb. Malik would stand idly by and observe the men making an effort to open the entrance to the apparent tomb, and as they did, Malik quietly wondered whose tomb this was. He had witnessed many of the burials of his pharaohs when he was still in his youth, but he had forgotten who this tomb belonged to. His people had made great efforts to conceal the final resting places from those who had other ideas in mind. And well enough too. There were still many secrets yet to come out when it came to the Valley. But of course, some things are best left hidden. Some are best left at rest.

That's how Malik preferred it. And yet here he was, overseeing a tomb being unsealed. He couldn't help but _not_ stand still.

Although conflicted and hesistant, Malik was more then prepared to make his way through the halls of the once hidden tomb. Malik was untrusting of these men and did not wish for this tomb to be mishandled in any way, shape, or form. And so, he entered along with the others, slipping into the darkness. He could almost taste the dust on his tongue as soon as he entered.

The only natural light that was present was the ray of sunlight that was through the tomb, though as they travelled further and further in, they would be in complete darkness. The corridors were small, almost narrow, and the walls were covered in hieroglyphs and artwork, displaying a pharaoh's accomplishments. It gave the other men a sense of isolation; claustrophobia. It never really bothered Malik, however. He was too lost in his own thoughts.

Malik held his only source of light - a lantern - up to the intricate designs of a language he believed he had forgotten all those centuries ago. On the outside, Malik appeared calm and organized. While internally, he couldn't help but feel as though he was an imposter for being in here.

It was after a few more steps did his heart fall into his stomach. Malik stopped and nearly fell down when he caught sight the name of the king eternalized in the hieroglyphs. He turned to face the wall, his fingers running over the symbols a couple times. His mind reread the symbols over and over to make sure he was translating it correctly.

 _Living Image of Amun._

 _Tutankhamun._

It took a few moments for his mind to process this. He continued to reread it, trying to make sure that he knew that this _truly_ was him. Then, he could feel his legs go weak beneath him and he had to balance himself by placing a hand on the wall. Malik didn't expect to see that name ever again. And for a long time, he had forgotten that the boy ever existed. After all, he had been erased from history millennia ago. Egypt had forgot him.

Indeed. History was unkind.

As well as the human race.

Humanity was unkind. If one had the power, they could erase someone from history and leave them behind. No one would know that they existed if there was no record of their existence.

That was what had happened to the boy king.

Malik could recall now; Tutankhamun, originally Tutankhaten. Son of Akhenaten. Apart of his mother's legacy. A man that was given the title of pharaoh too soon and died too young.

But life didn't discriminate. It just took.

All that Malik could remember were him and those men stumbling upon the sarcarphogus of the boy king and disturbing the mummified man. He just stood idly by, watching as they removed the outer sarcophagus.

And then it was the second.

And then, it was down to the inner sarcophagus.

They were preparing to remove the final one in order to get a glimpse of the former pharaoh but before they had the chance to do so, Malik stepped forward and before he realized it, he fell to his knees, his fingers brushing over ever single detail of the coffin. He barely breathed as he examined the remnants of the pharaoh, thinking to himself. Then, he hung his head in respect, his eyes closed in order to prevent tears from swelling in his eyes. Then, he embraced it, his arms sprawled over it as to comfort a distressed child. No one intervened; they just stood and watched. They allowed him to have his moment.

And so, he mourned for yet another remnant of his mother. Another part of her legacy.

He mourned for the mother he wished he still had.

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Ehhhhh, tbh this is kind of bad but ah well, at least I tried.

This little piece could be considered historical Hetalia in a way, but yes, this story is based on the discovery of King Tutankhamun's tomb in the Valley of the Kings. But really, this is just so bad. Feel free to leave a review! I won't mind.


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